|
the way liquid flows through you
by Michael Workman |
|
|
and it shouts and screams off your waddling lips and sloppy teeth and down through uncle throat to old aunt belly (the thermometer swallowing petrificant) which you savant with steaming legs to be your gowful webbed mother (and bougainvillea treat) for suicide, wear your twat heady fishnets and tan your skin that color of dirt goes so pretty with the liquid that flows through you. it's just an old trick-- hiding under your pornstar tits as the mellow spring dusk licks your wounds with more wounded light. we're huddled so close. |
|
«
back to table of contents
|
